#in the entirety of my life

[sansxfuckyou]

hey i just wanted to say how much I value our friendship. you're genuinely such an important person to me i am so happy seeing you in my notes screaming with me i always get so happy and you've inspired so much to draw (including but not limited to snf and twittblr) and write too when it was a quick hobby I picked up two years ago or so in a frenzy and slowly died out until you reignited it again with your fucking banger fics and i genuinely cannot be more grateful

I dont usually give myself time to truly put what I feel into words, simply going for keysmashes or quick swears or quoting memes and hoping you understand what I wanted to express and I think it was about time I made a personalised message truly using my words to get it across. you are so fucking cool you are awesome you are amazing you are talented you put so much effort into your words be it about a cozy morning organs falling apart or sucking dick. you put so much love into everything you do and it is so amazing to see. i love you man. i wish you everything good in the world ever. you dont have to answer me back with long paragraphs I think I already understand just how important I am to you and I wanted to repay you the favor by laying across the table my heart bare open for you to see

keep on loving keep on living keep on persisting despite despite despite

I am so glad I sent you that Melon Musk image, truly

-Tena

[axoqiii]

another p5r art dump hiiiiieii 😢😢😢

[celerydays]

Princess and the Frog Turtle AU 🐢👑

[ecliip]

been listening to miracle musical lately. does anyone see the vision!!!

[cononeillbreastingboobily]

[only-lonely-www]

So basically ATLA brain rot has hit me like a truck

[fluffydice]

Lolol the thing about Saiki is that it's not even just about hiding his powers. If it was then he would have been more open about caring when it became very, very apparent that his friends were not going to leave, regardless of how distant he acted. The distance and apathy were supposed to keep people from sticking around, which doesn't work on people who refuse to fucking leave. But it's like. If Saiki shows the extent of how much he cares, which at the end of the day is what is truly at his core as a person, then he'd have to accept the fact that them leaving him is because they didn't like who he was, not just the persona he puts on. And like, to a kid who's spent his entire life running away before he can get hurt, being forced to face the fact that your loved ones had been right when they said your very existence was enough to make you rejectable would be devastating lmao

[chemdisaster]

martyn during the entirety of double life is just very much in love with ren. like every time they interact he's giving him The Look. you know the one. the look of absolute love

[nickorite]

What’s in Henry’s head 24/7

Song: Passing Through by Kaden MacKay (mashup version)

[aestheticallynotdeerlightful]

Doing some old requests that have been in my inbox for who knows how long, I’m sorry they took so long. Which is why I won’t ping anyone

.

(Please do not use, trace, or repost my works anywhere without explicit permission from me first thank you <3)

[comfortless]

syl you can not casually mention blacksmith König and leave it at that!

sighing… ok, yes, i will talk about blacksmith! König more..! ^^

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. violence, physical/emotional abuse, descriptions of injury, death, angst, marriage on the gallows au.

Before König, there was his father, his father’s father and so on. Hardened men who were left to rot on the outskirts of the little village: sharpen blades, birth something from slabs of iron and silver. The work was tedious, but never dull. Scrape, burn, turn and roll- over and over until the smoke rose from the pit to sting at his eyes. Birth by fire wasn’t only in myths of dragons and phoenixes; he witnessed it each time he held pure malice in his hands as his hammer struck. Nothing became something, deadly and cruel. Day and night his life and lungs were filled to brimming with hellfire.

Accidents happen, naturally. No matter how careful he’s been, there’s nothing to keep the flame from entirely taking back after giving so much.

König’s father lost a finger while mentoring him.

His blue eyes were fixed on the man’s callused hand as the freshly smithed blade sliced through the digit like it was little more than a dollop of honey, no blood. There had been nothing but the crack of bone carved cleanly through, then the wet sizzle of meat cooking as it fell into the pit.

His father had screeched like a starved demon then, a barrage of insults tossed his son’s way like little more than passing pleasantries: oaf, useless cur, bitch.

König hadn’t been concerned, he sat on the stone bench looking up at his father and told him so, that he was fine: it had been cauterized, cleansed by the fire.

König lost the same finger that day.

His mother had fallen ill sometime last winter. The last memory he had of her was the look of frailty on her face, how her skin felt so cold and yet she lie dampened with sweat.

The dogs and buzzards had gotten to her grave, but it wasn’t them he felt any of the fire’s malice for.

Just his father.

The villagers didn’t know what became of the blacksmith, but König could recall it every night; how even with his dying breath he had only thought to curse his only son.

So, he wears the hood of the last executioner now, and the people shy away. They don’t like the look of death unless they can participate in it as a divined audience.

The dogs are never hungry, there’s illness all throughout the valley, and sometimes it only shines through in shimmering eyes while the villagers stare and giggle at the next withering soul led to the gallows.

König knows he should be there; like mother and father, his bones should be shared between panting mouths and blood-stained beaks. Sometimes the boars come sniffing too, and he’s always hated them, maybe even more than the birds. They’re ugly and sturdy, squealing and snarling like his father.

The villagers looked at the boars, though, because they were useful. Their eyes were hungry and happy each night the men set out on a hunt, unaware that their sons and daughters lurked in the bellies of the very beasts they starved for.

It’s cold even during the summer months in his shack.

There are blankets, a kitchen, a hearth, but it’s empty. The winter makes its wastelands each coming year, envious of how he can accomplish such with fire instead of ice. He doesn’t need to clean. The ash blackens the wood, cleanses all. One day, maybe, it would scrub him too.

The fire is a womb, but it’s never birthed anything truly alive. Not until her. A wildfire swept the field where travelers had gathered. With their supplies reduced to the very cinders König had come to adore, the surviving members sweep right into this cursed place like it’s a holy temple.

And the fire gave her to him.

König doesn’t know where this woman came to settle from; she isn’t like the other villagers, not even the travelers with their items and skills for selling. There’s still life in her eyes. He watches her as she wanders down the street with a smile on her face, one that speaks of a kindness that not a single one of these people deserves.

She introduces herself to them too, without a title to her name, and all at once any interest fades as the ghosts wander away from her.

His mother used to force him into the church when she was still alive.

She would take him by the hand as he lumbered after her, sticking out amongst the crowd of parishioners who would sing their hymns and stare at him with contempt behind their eyes. He hated going, but he did it for his mother; father was much too busy to spend his time with her and her fantasies. But König learned of angels there, fragile feathered things, all eyes and wings that wouldn’t stand a chance against a blade.

He didn’t think delicate things could be holy until her sweet, gentle smile is cast upon him.

This lady walks right up to him, doesn’t bat an eye at his hood when her lips curl up as she introduces herself. She doesn’t mind the sack of weapons thrown over his shoulder to take to the marketplace— the swords, the daggers, none of it. Her eyes don’t even glance their way; she looks only to him.

Women like this don’t want their homes and beds covered in ash, cinder in place of incense, fire instead of honey. But still she smiles while he says nothing.

König isn’t the only man who’s heart she steals, either.

The village is all gray, smoke and rot except where she walks. Flowers spring up for the coming spring, the deer and foxes are calling out for mates, and it’s all because of her— everyone must know it.

The farmer’s son brings her fresh fruit and whispers into her ear while they pass by his shack on a stroll. The man’s arm curls around her waist so naturally that König can only be reminded of the way that dagger sank between his fathers fingers, tore off a bit of him to feed back to hungry flame. If there were any god above he knew right then that it wouldn’t want him to allow that to happen to her. Not to an angel.

When the rest of the men, dogs and seraphim sleep, König tears the farmer’s boy in two— split down chest to abdomen and left as food for the pigs, right there in the middle of the field.

He doesn’t pray, he hasn’t since the last time he knelt by his mother’s sickbed, but he closes his eyes and breathes out a wish when he leaves that bloodied dagger at her doorstep.

He doesn’t pray, but he weeps when he rallies the villagers to apprehend her. She cries and fusses, face puffy from sleep and hair a mess. There isn’t a speck of blood on her, but the vultures take her anyway. König didn’t want to see her hurt; when her eyes find his, he turns away.

The day of her execution arrives like a festival ceremony. It’s been some time since the last, the scavengers are hungry, so famished he thinks he can almost hear them lick their teeth. There would be no death today, it’s already been decided. In distant places, a single act of devotion is all it takes to save a life, one that the beasts didn’t have the right to take.

The hunger wasn’t always just for death, but for something… a turn and change like steel in fire.

When the angel is taken to her death, rope dangling from her neck like a lead meant for cattle, he steps forward, parting the crowd with an ease. He’s practiced this a time or two in the smoke already, a lonesome and loathing god in the fog. The others scurry from him, looking up at him with pinched brows and bared teeth as if to goad he take her life instead.

Instead, he only catches her eye, smiles and lowers himself on one knee.

[hecksupremechips]

Come back home when you have some sense

You can throw your life away just not at my expense

You’re not the son I raised

[sciderman]

howard the duck (1976) #10

[cryleforhelp]

chat is this real

[midonamiqui]

I love the Devotees

[delicatepoets]

on undying friendships for @fightingdragonswithwho​ <3

graceland too - phoebe bridgers / daisy jones and the six / leonard cohen - boygenius / a league of their own (2022) / a little life - hanya yanagihara / ladybird (2017) / the seven husbands of evelyn hugo - taylor jenkins reid